


Charon's Offer; Or: First Time for Everything

by TeaJay (LoreWren)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Thrill Me: The Leopold and Loeb Story
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, what am I doing with my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreWren/pseuds/TeaJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan supposed it was because he’d managed to be Eurydice, even though Richard had died first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charon's Offer; Or: First Time for Everything

Richard had been stabbed in the shower.

It wasn’t surprising, really, given that Richard was...Richard. He could be a sweet talker, but he’d never managed the effort that sweet-talking everyone would take, never seen the bother. He always ended up pissing off someone off. It didn’t have to be a shiv in the shower, but it was going to be something.

Nathan sat on the bed. He wasn’t shaking. He had been, when he’d first started believing--not when he’d first seen, but when he’d touched the blood. It wasn’t so much that it surprised Nathan that Richard could get himself killed, but this seemed so...ordinary. He’d assumed Richard would have some control over his death, if only to make it dramatic.

But then, Richard had had the chance for his dramatic death. Hanged for murdering a child, and pulling an ‘innocent’ into it besides, a thrilling tale of corruption...he’d had his chance, and he’d picked prison.

It wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t surprising that Richard was dead. If anything, it was surprising it had taken this long.

If Nathan repeated that thought enough times, maybe he’d start believing it had happened.

The door opened. Or it must have, since someone was standing there. Nathan had been enough out of it that is wasn’t surprising he hadn’t noticed. He turned his head to see who his new cellmate was going to be.

“Hello.”

Nathan blinked. This didn’t look like anyone who would get himself locked up here. He didn’t look entirely like he belonged outside of someone’s dream, actually. Nathan couldn’t place why. He just looked like he was about to walk through a wall or something.

“Will you be wanting him back?”

“Wanting who?” He stood up. “Richard?”

“Of course.” The man spit. “Tradition, isn’t it? Or close enough.” The way he said the last reminded Nathan of a few troublemakers he’d run into when he was younger--the branch who said things like, ‘Well, the rules don’t say...’

Nathan stared a moment, then decided to go with it. There were worse places to end up, but he couldn’t think of any at the moment. “Yeah. Yes. I, yes. Of course.”

The man nodded, then walked off in a direction, walking further than the cell should have let him. Nathan followed. It didn’t make sense in the strictest sense, but it was also perfectly sensible that this sort of person should have a way out of here. And Nathan should be able to follow him, of course, because as long as there existed a way, Nathan could walk it.

He tried to remember the way, but found his mind wouldn’t focus the right way. It was an uncomfortable sensation, so he gave up on it. “My name’s Nathan,” he said, aware even before he said it that this was unnecessary.

“Yeah.” The man shrugged his arms in a way that suggested he was used to holding something, wasn’t entirely comfortable without it. “Mine’s Charon.”

“Sharon? Oh,” said Nathan, remembering. “Charon. The ferryman.”

Charon nodded, not looking back. It seemed the proper way to travel through this tunnel, for whatever reason. Nathan wasn’t the best at reading cues, but this one was clear enough, and seemed to pulse from every wall. Don’t look behind you. You won’t like what happens.

They reached a river. “Styx,” Charon said. He climbed into the boat and picked up the oar immediately. “Got to pay to cross, and no one crosses back unless the boss says so.”

“I don’t have any money.”

Charon looked him over. “What’s something you’d pay with, where you just came from?”

Nathan paused. He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He tapped out a pair and offered them. Charon took both, then lit one and started smoking. “That’ll do nicely.” They pushed off from shore.

It was quiet. Nathan wasn’t sure how that worked--Charon was the ferryman, note singular, and there must have been at least a few hundred who died in the time it took them to cross, and Charon seemed in no hurry to get back.

Nathan decided not to question it.

When he got there, Richard was having a conversation with a man on a throne, whom Nathan guessed was Hades. The woman on the other throne saw Nathan and smiled a little sadly. The sadness might have been directed at him, but she didn’t look like it would be very easy to get a simple smile out of her. She looked...old. Older than the man next to her, in some ways. She had an air of acceptance, of seeing the world as it was, rather than as she would it were. She looked very odd next to Richard, in short.

Nathan shook his head and broke eye contact with her.

“He will,” Richard said, wrapped up in himself and his argument, unmoveable.

“No one does,” Hades said, annoyed and trying to be dignified. “Not without help. And he has no divine relatives, unless you feel the need to tell me something exceptionally interesting.”

Persephone said, softly, “Would you let him try, if he did find a way?” Perhaps something danced in her eyes, not mirth, but a contentedness at a story well told.

Hades shared a look with her, then closed his eyes and breathed very deeply. He looked back at Richard, who looked ready to argue for a week. “Yes. Fine. If he finds his way down here, he may try to lead you back up.”

Richard drew breath, as if about to gloat or ask for it in writing, neither of which struck Nathan as good ideas. “That’s nice of you,” Nathan said.

Persephone’s mouth twitched, so little that Nathan would not have noticed had he not been looking for it. Richard turned, brightening. Still exhausted, still scared, but brighter. Not like after a good robbery, but like when they’d gotten life plus 99 years instead of death. “Babe! What took you?” he said, moving to put his hands on Nathan’s shoulders. He cupped Nathan’s face and kissed it, then moved away, but kept contact, held his hand. Nathan nearly heard him say, Don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme, clear as he’d heard it when Richard had kissed him in the precinct office.

Hades’ mouth was a firm line. He ground his teeth for a few moments longer, then said. “Fine.” Nathan was reminded of a teacher in his junior year of high school, who had caught him and Richard, but who knew punishing them and the other kids Richard had talked into it would be more trouble than it was worth. “You.” Hades jabbed a finger in Nathan’s direction. “Walk up the path, the way you came. If you look back before both of you reach the top, he”--he jabbed the same finger in Richard’s direction--“comes back down here; you live without him.” Hades gestured at them to leave as if swatting a fly. “Go.”

Richard squeezed his hand one last time, and they set off.

It was awfully...easy. Nathan supposed it was because he’d managed to be Eurydice, even though Richard had died first. Charon had led him down here, and Richard would lead him out. “I’m right here, Babe. I knew you’d come.”

And he did, didn’t he? Because didn’t Nathan always come, whether Richard called or not, no matter how many times Richard stood him up. He’d always come. Certain as the turn of the seasons.

“No.”

Nathan jerked out of his reverie and looked next to him. “What? Oh.” He inclined his head toward Persephone, whom he had apparently ignored. “I’m sorry, miss. I mean, your majesty. Or, um--”

She smiled and shook her head. “You intended respect. That is all I mind.”

They walked a few more steps in silence, Richard having gone quiet when Persephone’s slow, steady, and long footsteps had caught up to them.

After a moment, Nathan asked, “What did you mean, no?”

“You are not nearly as certain a thing as the turn of the seasons. Trust me.”

“...I suppose you know the seasons better than anyone else,” he said, which was not a lie, because Nathan had made no comment on how well he thought Persephone knew him.

“And I know people. No one is as constant as that. One may be forced to it, but even those who are bound to fates have room to move.”

Nathan could see their cell at the top of the tunnel now, coming closer with each step. He wondered why Orpheus had found this so hard. Yes, he wanted to see Richard’s face, but not so much that he would risk losing him for a glance.

They reached the top, and Persephone put her hand on Nathan’s arm. Richard made a sound, but Persephone spared a look back and Richard shut up. Impressive, Nathan thought, and he did not look back, but nor did he try to push past her. When she spoke, she spoke in a voice so gentle it could bring down mountains.

“You were never bound to him.”

She held his eyes for just a moment, then nodded and returned the way they’d just come. Nathan stared straight ahead, at the beds in the cell, at the bars, at the walls. He thought of Bobby Franks, and wondered whether this meant the boy would get to see his parents again, eventually. He wondered if the thought had occurred to Richard.

“Babe?”

Nathan stared at the wall for a moment longer, thinking of a child’s eyes, then thinking of the oldest eyes he’d ever seen. He turned around.

“Don’t call me that, Richard.”

Richard froze. Charon was there, quick as light, smoking the end of the cigarette. He nodded companionably to Nathan, then pulled Richard back down. Nathan watched. He didn’t owe Richard that, but he owed himself.

“You were never worth it,” Nathan said, not sure whether it was true, but certain it was the right thing to say.


End file.
